«You told Julian?»
«Yes. Hadn't you thought that I might? Oh but of course you'd forgotten all about it!»
«You told-?»
«And I'm afraid I told Arnold almost straightaway. You're not the only one who has states of mind. With my husband at any rate, I'm not very discreet. It's a risk one runs with married people.»
«When did you tell her-when-?»
«Oh, not till later. When Arnold came down to your love-nest he brought Julian a letter from me. And in that letter I told her.»
«What did you tell her?»
«And when she did get back, I must say-«What did you tell her?»
«Simply what happened. That you appeared to be in love with me, that you started kissing me passionately, that we went to bed together and it wasn't a great success but you swore eternal devotion and so on, and then Arnold came and you ran out without your socks on and bought Julian that pair of boots-«Oh God-you told her-all that-«Well, why not? It did happen, didn't it? You don't deny it, do you? It was relevant, wasn't it? It was part of you. It would have been wrong to conceal it.»
«Oh God-«
«No wonder you tried to forget it all. But, Bradley, one is responsible for one's actions, and one's past does belong to one. You can't blot it out by entering a dream world and decreeing that life began yesterday. You can't make yourself into a new person overnight, however much in love you feel you are. That sort of love is an illusion, all that 'certainty' you were talking about is an illusion. It's like being under the influence of drugs.»
«No, no, no.»
«Anyway it's over now and no harm done. You needn't worry too much or feel remorse or anything, she had already decided it was a mistake. She has some sense. Really, you mustn't take a young girl's feelings so literally. You haven't lost a pearl of great price, my dear Bradley, and you'll appreciate this sooner than you imagine. You'll soon be heaving a sigh of relief too. Julian is a very ordinary little girl. She's immature, not all there yet, like an embryo. Of course there was a lot of emotion swilling around, but it didn't really signify too much who was at the receiving end of it. It's a very volatile time of life. There's nothing steady or permanent or deep in any of these great crazes. She's been 'madly in love' any number of times in the last two or three years. My dear man, did you really imagine you would be the sticking point of a young girl's passion? How could that be? A girl like Julian will have to love a hundred men before she finds the right one. I was just the same. Oh do wake up, Bradley. Look at yourself in a mirror. Come back to earth.»
«And she came straight to you?»
«I suppose so. She arrived pretty soon after Arnold-'
«And what did she say?»
«Do stop looking like King Lear «What did she say?»
«What could she say? What could anyone say? She was crying like a maniac anyway and-«
«Oh Christ, oh Christ.»
«She got me to repeat it all and give all the details and swear it was true and then she believed me.»
«But what did she say? Can't you remember anything, she actually said?»
«She said, 'If only it had been longer ago.' I suppose she had a point there.»
«She didn't understand. It wasn't at all like what you said. When you said that, it wasn't true. When you used those words they conveyed something which simply wasn't true. You implied-«I'm sorry! I don't know what words you would expect me to have used! Those ones seemed to me to be pretty appropriate and accurate.»
«She can't have understood «I think she did understand, Bradley. I'm sorry, but I think she did.»
«You said she was crying.»
«Oh madly, like a child who was going to be hanged. But she always did enjoy crying.»
«How could you have told her, how could you-But she must have known it wasn't like that, it wasn't like that-«Well, I think it was like that!»
«How could you have told her?»
«It was Arnold's idea. But I didn't honestly feel at that point that I had to be discreet any more. I thought a little shock would bring Julian to her senses-«
«Why have you come here today? Did Arnold send you?»
«No, not particularly. I felt you ought to be told about Julian.»
«But you haven't told me!»
«About it being-well, you must have assumed it anyway-all over.»
'We.'»
«Don't shout. And I came, you won't care of course, but out of a sort of kindness. I wondered if I could help you.»
I stared at her with amazement, she was handsome, pale and bland, elated and precise, eloquent, vibrating with dignity and purpose. «Rachel, I don't think we understand each other at all.»
«Well, don't worry. You'll feel relieved later on. Just try not to feel resentment against me or against Julian. You'll only make yourself miserable if you do.»
I got up and went to the bureau and got out Arnold's letter. I got it out simply with the intention of making sure I had not dreamt it. Perhaps my memory really was disturbed. There was a sort of blank over Arnold's letter and yet I seemed to recall-I said, holding the letter in my hand, «Julian will come back to me. I know this. I know it just as well as I know-«What's that you have there?»
«A letter from Arnold.» I began to look at the letter.
There was a ring at the front doorbell.
I threw the letter onto the table and ran out to the door in heart-agony.
A postman stood outside with a very large cardboard box, which he"Wha? sathatrPшn the flшшr'
«Parcel for Mr. Bradley Pearson.»
«What is it?»
«I don't know, sir. Is that you, then? I'll just push it in, shall I? It weighs a ton.» The postman nudged the big square box in through the doorway with his knee and made off. As I returned to the sitting-room I saw Francis sitting on the stairs. He had obviously been listening. He looked like an apparition, one of those ghosts that writers describe which look just like ordinary people and yet not. He smiled obsequiously. I ignored him.
Rachel was standing by the table reading the letter. I sat down. I felt very tired.
«You ought not to have shown me this letter.»
«You don't know what you've done. I shall never never never forgive you.»
«But, Rachel, you said you and Arnold told each other everything, so surely you-«God, you are vile, vindictive-«It's not my fault! It can't make any difference, can it?»